“You don’t look like a Dani.” “I’m sorry?” “Dani is a child’s name,” she goes on, her accent giving her voice a slight edge. “Are you a child?” “I…” Part of me is bristling, but another part notices that she doesn’t look as if she’s mocking me when she says this. It’s more like she’s sizing me up. “My full name is Danica.” Her red lips part in a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah, yes. Much better. Danica sounds like a powerful woman.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “I like powerful women.” This entire exchange is bizarre, but my mouth is still turning up at the corners. I
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